Thousands
by PoppieJoy
Summary: When I count to One, I think of you. (One-shot/drabble)


**This was so random, but I felt like I hadn't written in a really long time, so here you all go. I met someone recently who's beautiful. I'm not sure what will happen, if anything will happen at all, but mostly, I just want her to be really happy because she's not. So I guess she kinda inspired this. But mostly, I really just wanna dedicate this mini one shot to Kaelyn and Lucy. They will never know how much they inspired me.**

**Finds me on tumblr yo: i-fly-with-broken-wings**

**Enjoy x**

**...**

"_Ah, let me weave a chaplet for your hair,_

_Of pale and rosy lilacs, lady fair._

_Woe to the lover who would choose a rose_

_That in its heart a stinging bee may close._

_Or yet a lily, a spray of vine,_

_Or any bloom that wreathes a cup of wine._

_The flower I gather, love, for your sweet sake_

_Breathes love that neither time nor ill can shake._

_**Persian Love Song**_

...

_Beautiful._

(A rose has exactly nine different meanings and nine different colours. When I count to nine, I think of October, I think of Class with Miss Hazelberry, I think of the dog that once lived next door.)

(When I count to One, I think of you.)

_Beautiful._

Within that count to One is everything I ever felt for you _(and for my world)_ the first time I saw you.

In your eyes were a thousand melodies I had never seen or heard or even dreamt of playing; yet the moment the deep and glowing blue of them glanced in my lost and lonely direction, I knew every single note by heart.

Your lips – so soft and pink and glazed with everything I could not have ever imagined existed in this perfect world we have since created. So hurt and so cracked and so very, very beautiful.

_Beautiful._

Your lips alone told a thousand stories of lonely nights and mistreated feelings.

_(A thousand, thousand, thousand for you.)_

The way those gentle, white blonde locks swung in curl after curl after curl, falling so elegantly down each pretty side of your pretty face, hovering even prettier whispers above your pretty red rose cheeks and the tips of your pretty cherry blossom ears.

_("You're so pretty, Brittany.")_

I never knew you could dance without moving until I met you.

You have a freckle on your nose that's deeper and darker and more dangerous than the others. It holds a thousand secrets you once swore you'd never speak. A thousand mistakes you thought you'd never release. A thousand reasons to take my eyes within the ocean of yours and hold them there, like the moon does the stars. Like the sky does the clouds. Like the wind does the birds.

_(Fly, fly, fly away with me.)_

The arch in which both your eyebrows are built, is so perfectly aligned, (nature's finest creation), the tallest man and the deepest river could pass quite freely beneath it.

_(Beneath your beautiful.)_

I'd never seen such pretty perfection before You.

You were wearing nothing but a slip dress – the thinnest, yet thickest cotton I have ever come across – and I could see everything, even before your eyes had met mine and let me in. It took you exactly eight seconds to turn 360 degrees, right round in the longest of circles I've ever felt, letting your Momma wrap dress after dress, sash after sash, colour after colour, around your pretty, perfect, _beautiful _body.

It took us ten minutes to finally break each other's gazes.

You are always one or the other.

They say that the rose is one of – if not the first – flower to spring to mind when one imagines Love. They are fair and sweet; fresh and fragrant; delicate and graceful. Everything girls have ever wished for in something so romantic.

But when I saw you, Brittany, I never imagined, _(not even in a thousand lifetimes)_, that the first flower I would ever lay upon your sacred palm, would be a plant I didn't even know existed – a flower so obvious, yet so rarely thought about, and so very, very forgotten.

It makes sense, really, that the moment I knew the prettiest girl in the world existed, the prettiest flower in the world would make itself known to me as well.

You turned in circle after circle, eight times and then ten. I saw everything. I saw all of you.

I wanted all of you.

I still do.

"Brittany," Your Momma said, "Meet Santana. She's Eric's future sister-in-law."

_(It was the only time I ever saw you dislike your brother.)_

You took me to sunflower fields and meadows full of wild daises when we first met. You took my hand, picked a daisy right outta the soiled spring grass, and braided it right through the locks of my hair.

_Beautiful_, you said.

Although I'm a thousand percent sure I fell in love with you in the dress shop down main street, Ohio, on Saturday 10th March 2012, there is also no doubt in my mind that I fell in love with you more, piece by piece, feather by feather, petal by petal, with every word you spoke to me and I whispered to you.

_("My father died on October 9__th__ 1996 from a car accident in Japan.")_

_("On my ninth birthday, Miss Hazelberry asked me to paint a picture of how I felt and when I painted my piece of paper just black she told my mother to send me to a anger management.")_

_("Echo was the Dalmatian who lived next door to me when I was younger and when he was nine, he got hit by a motorbike on the road outside our house and I've never been able to forget that wail. It was like a scream.")_

_(Nine, nine, nine.)_

You're always one or the other.

The first time we kissed, you held the hand in which I write and you placed it against those perfect lips of yours. You closed your eyes, you squeezed my palm and you whispered right into the soul of the deep and hardy skin there, _"Beautiful," _and then you kissed each line, each crack and each fingertip – eight times, once each.

Your eyes were doing that dancing thing again and there was nothing I could do to stop our kiss from happening because your lips were whispering so quickly, yet so softly up the inside of my left forearm and over the top of my shoulder, your touch so ghostly and so sensual when it reached my neck.

You kissed my neck for hours.

You told me it was the best feeling in the world when you lifted your head and I caught your lips just before you could catch mine.

I love doing that to you.

_(Surprise, surprise, surprise. Secret, secret, secret. Ours, ours, ours.)_

"_You're so perfect, Santana."_

"_There is no one more perfect than you, Brittany."_

"_You're eyes are like the moon, Santana."_

"_You're eyes are like the ocean, Brittany."_

"_Like the tides?"_

"_Just like the tides, Brittany."_

You are always like the ocean, Brittany. One moment, you're as calm as snowfall, so blue and radiant and welcoming, making even the plainest of thing around you look breathtaking. Yet sometimes, you turn moody and so internally violent, _(on yourself)_, and the most angry grey you can ever imagine, like someone has the power to suck all the colour and life right out of your soul. _(Who has that power? You, you, you.) _

You make up 71% of my world. You cover every surface of it with your glory. _(You're all the little things, where everything comes to life.) _The remaining 29% is my journey from one land of your soul to the next. It's treacherous, we should know, and parts of you are dangerous, _(your eyes, your eyes, your eyes)_, but you are always, always _beautiful._

_(Be mine forever?)_

My favourite part about you, _(the final count before we reach One), _is your smile. It's so bright, a thousand suns and a thousand spotlights and a thousand yellow hummingbird's could never exceed it. You smile and I just want to kiss it - kiss it so that I can bottle it, forever and ever and remember each single smile you ever give me, or give anyone.

You can smile and smile and smile forever.

_Beautiful._

All the counts to one, I count every time I wake in the morning and see you lying right next to me, _(curled beneath my arms)_. Every time you open the porch door for me as I return home from a long day at work. Every time you cook me dinner. Every time you take my hand as we're walking the dog. Every time you kiss my neck. Every time we watch TV together. Every time you buy me flowers. Every time you text me.

_**Missing the moon today, San.**_

_**The boy at the grocery store just told me I looked pretty today. I told him it was because of you.**_

_**Can I have you in my arms right now?**_

_**San + Britt + laziness = takeaway on the couch tonight watching **_**Bridesmaids.**

_**Pasta or sushi for dinner, sweetie?**_

_**I love you.**_

_**I love you.**_

_**I love you.**_

You sent me all eight of those today.

I have my chosen flower in my hand and hopefully, by now, you will have looked up into my eyes, felt the whispered promises and taken it from me, so I can tell you the reasons for this flower.

It means _the first emotions of love._

It changes from purple to blue in perfect harmony.

It symbolises the loveliness of a girl becoming a woman.

It marks the beginning of summer and, more importantly, of _Love._

But most of all? Most of all, it is the perfect flower for you, _(for us), _because there isn't just one flower. There are thousands. Thousands and thousands and thousands of purple and blue pixie buds, counting all the many reasons that I love you.

You are my count to one. And I'd love it if we could spend the rest of our lives counting Lilacs and picking daisies.

_(Marry me?)_

**Thank you for reading. Poppy x**


End file.
